What You've Done in the Rain
by TheAgonyofBlank
Summary: Fast forward fifteen or so years, and you find yourself in Washington, those early days of geekdom far behind you… AddisonIzzie.


**What You've Done in the Rain**  
Author: Sarah ( TheAgonyofBlank)  
Rating: PG-13.  
Prompt: Addison, Washington.  
Author's Notes: Written for A State of Undress ficathon for ralst.  
Summary: "Fast forward fifteen or so years, and you find yourself in Washington, those early days of geekdom far behind you…"

* * *

You don't want to, but you can't help but recall your senior prom, even though it was ages ago. You were a band geek back then – smart, indeed, but certainly not charming. Not yet; that came later. And you remember, with a slight frown, that you didn't have a date. You almost did, you certainly thought you did, when popular, sweet, and funny Dennis Goldstein asked you to the prom. You thought it was too good to be true, and it was. Because when prom night rolled around, he didn't show up. It was a rainy night, and worried he'd gotten into an accident, you'd called his home, only to find out that he was already _at_ prom. 

But you didn't think anything was amiss; perhaps you'd agreed to meet him at the school gym and had just forgotten – it wasn't likely, as anything to do with Dennis Goldstein was rather hard to forget, but it was possible, right? Of course. When you arrived at the gym, you were an hour too late, as the prom was already in full-swing. But that was okay, you thought - you were sure that Dennis wouldn't mind waiting, because the nice guys never minded waiting. They were sweet, and caring, and kind, and somehow you had gotten a date with one of them. You remember being excited at the thought of dancing with someone like him, even though you might not have been very interested in him – it was just the fact that he was popular, and you weren't. And that meant everything to you back then.

Your roving eyes finally found him, and sure enough, he was already at prom – only, instead of dancing with you, he was dancing with the popular Kristin Jacobs. It turned out that Dennis had only asked you to prom on a dare, and he'd never had the intention of going out with you. Ever. He told you this with a laugh, and in front of all his friends. You remember the stab of pain that ran through you, especially when Kristin Jacobs looked at you with those sad eyes, as though _she_ was sorrier than he was – and she was, because Dennis Goldstein wasn't sorry at all. But you now remember – although you never forgot this – later that evening, after the prom, when Kristin came up to you. She kissed you that semi-warm, rainy night, lightly and on the lips, giving you a funny, tingly feeling, and before you could protest or sound an agreement, she had already pushed you into a more remote corner, away from prying eyes.

You only saw her once after that, at graduation the following week, just having recovered from the cold you got after that night, and you didn't say a word to her, nor she to you.

Fast forward fifteen or so years, and you find yourself in Washington, those early days of geekdom far behind you, or so you think, anyway. You've been here for a year now, give or take, and by now you've decided you're really a New Yorker at heart – you hate the Washington weather, and there's nothing in Seattle for you, aside from your husband, who is the only reason you're still staying. You cheated on him, after all, and now you're here to try and make things work.

In fact, you've been trying to make things work for the better part of the year.

And even though you're tired, you don't want to give up trying, because you lost someone who was sweet, and funny, and caring, and you can't bear to lose someone like that… and also because you believe, deep down, that you and Derek are forever. Like you and Dennis could have been, had he been sincere in asking you to prom. You know that Mark was a mistake, because you'd just needed some sex and he was right there when Derek wasn't. Mark was there a whole lot more than Derek was. But you realized your mistake, a second too late, when you saw Derek staring at you, and staring at Mark, and staring at you-and-Mark through the doorway.

So when Derek asks you to prom at the hospital, you're overjoyed. It's like senior prom all over again, except this time you know for a fact that Derek will show up, and everything will go perfectly. This time, Derek is there, and you even dance with him. You hold him close, as though afraid he will leave – and subconsciously you think he will, because suddenly you feel like the band geek again, and he feels like Dennis Goldstein, sweet and charming and with _you_, and you're not sure why, but you feel like something is going to go wrong.

And something does go wrong.

You know, once you find the black panties in his pocket the next day, that it's over. You know exactly what he's done, and whose black panties these are, and suddenly making this relationship work isn't as important as it used to be. He might as well have just laughed in your face, in front of everyone at the hospital prom, because although it was daytime and it wasn't prom, this felt exactly as it had those nights ago. Except there's no Kristin Jacobs to kiss you and make you feel all tingly inside, to make you feel like you've had the last laugh.

Fast forward another year, and you're still in Washington.

But now you don't seem to hate it as much as you did. You really can't bring yourself to hate what you usually would've referred to as "miserable" or "shitty" weather, because it's miserable and shitty weather right now, with the rain and the slight cold. But Isobel Stevens has you up against the rough wall of a building, which reminds you of Kristin Jacobs those years ago, even though this is different.

Because having sex with Isobel Stevens is much better than having sex with Kristin Jacobs was, and it's cold now, not warm – but it's still secluded, though even if it weren't you wouldn't have cared, because she's trailing a line of kisses down your neck, her hands firmly planted on your waist. But soon you find that your shirt's unbuttoned, and maybe her hands aren't on your waist anymore, because she seems to be all over at once, and it doesn't take much longer before you're stripped down to just your underwear.

You know for a fact that you're going to be sick with the cold tomorrow, thanks to the damn Washington weather, but for once you couldn't care any less. About Washington, or the weather.


End file.
